The First Time
by poma14
Summary: During the course of one very long day, John Bates confronts the ghosts of his past including PTSD and alcoholism which allow him to express his feelings for Anna for...the first time. Takes place between Seasons 1 and 2, soon after the war started. Chapter 7 is up: LAST CHAPTER! Anna's past allows John to say those three little words for the first time.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This story has been in the works for weeks. I finally found time this past weekend to pull the first chapter together (grr…silly real life getting the way of Downton writing). **_

_**The First Time takes place between seasons 1 and 2, roughly eight months after the start of the war. It was born out of some of my frustrations with season 2. There was so much that was left out by the time jump, so much I wanted to see evolve, especially concerning the Anna/Bates relationship, but also his past (Africa, Vera, alcoholism, etc). **_

_**I generally kept to the Downton story, but did take liberties and go AU with some of the characters. William enlists right away, as does Sybil in the nursing corps (I never really understood why either would wait two years). Also, Robert actually serves an essential role with the military (Why would a man in good health and military experience been turned away for real service as he was in Season 2?)**_

_**Hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

**The First Time**

_**May, 1915**_

**Chapter 1: **

He knew it was her from the footsteps upon the stone floor. Her shoes clacked enough to indicate a woman but delicate enough to rule out the likes of Mrs. Hughes or Miss O'Brien. The slight clacks ended just inside the open doorway of the servants' hall.

John peered over his book to see Anna standing there blindingly bright. She wore a dress of yellow. No, buttercup, that's the shade ladies would call it. She was shrugging into a light cream colored jacket that was embroidered along the neck and wrists. A jaunty little white hat slightly cocked to the side completed the outfit. He could tell she was trying to look her best. In his opinion, that wasn't very hard. She always looked a fine lady to him.

He closed the collection of short stories by Edgar Allen Poe he had been reading and pulled himself out of his seat. The dark stories at odds with the sight in front of him.

"All set, Mr. Bates?"

Although he gave her a nod of assent, whether or not he was "all set" could be debated. When Lord Grantham presented his proposal for the staff to volunteer at the local village hospital to assist with the war wounded, John had been leery. It was too close to him, to his experiences over a decade prior. He had spent countless days in a similar hospital. Did he really want to walk into such a place again? He knew His Lordship meant well by giving the staff an extra half day and farming them out, the hospital most certainly could use the extra manpower, but for John seeing the injured and perhaps dying threatened to dredge up memories he had worked exceedingly hard to bury. Just the war talk around the servants' hall and in the newspapers was beginning to gnaw at him. As much as he tried to repress it, the past was worming its way to the surface.

But then Anna had turned to him at dinner the evening after Lord Grantham had issued his call to arms, "How about it, Mr. Bates? His Lordship mentioned we might volunteer in pairs. I'd like to do something to help out, especially those who have the greatest need."

And then she paused and took her hand from the table and furtively found his underneath. "We could do it together."

So there he was. How could he turn her down? For a man that prided himself in self-control, especially in light of his past, he had absolutely no will power when it came to this young woman.

His thumb gave a slight stroke to the inside of her wrist. Anna closed her eyes and a stuttered breath escaped. John quickly removed his hand. It would not do to have such actions discovered. They were only feet away from the rest of the staff.

Her eyes opened sharply at the removal of his hand. She longed for his touch as much as he did hers. But there was nothing more he could do or would risk under the prying eyes of the others. So instead, he simply acquiesced to her request.

Now a week later, they were getting ready to make their first trek to the hospital.

As John reached Anna at the doorway, Mrs. Hughes bustled in. "Oh good, there you two are. Just please remember to be back in time to dress the family for dinner."

Anna gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. We will."

"And let me know how it goes . . . I'm going on Thursday with Miss O'Brien."

"Heaven help you," John let slip.

The housekeeper rolled her eyes as she headed out the door and down the hall. "Don't I know . . . Now run along, you don't want to keep Dr. Clarkson and the nurses waiting."

John took a light hold of Anna's elbow to steer her out into the hallway.

"Shall we be off?" His mouth quirked up in a half smile.

"Lead the way, Mr. Bates."

* * *

There was nip in the air as they walked towards the village. John was glad he grabbed his wool coat. Even though it was the first week of May, it felt like February. The sky was gray and storm clouds threatened in the distance. Perhaps he should have grabbed an umbrella too.

As they left the house, he offered Anna his arm. She took it without hesitation. He was just being a gentleman, he told himself. It wasn't because he needed to feel her touch on his arm or the occasional brush of her body against his. No, he was just being a gentleman, one whose collar seemed much tighter than it did before they left. Christ, how did she manage to have this effect on him?

"I wonder what they will have us do?"

"Oh, I don't know. I bet they have you making bedside rounds with the soldiers."

"Why do you say that?"

"What man wouldn't want to a visit from you? You would bring a bit of sunshine into his life."

Anna self-consciously looked down at her outfit. "Oh, I know the dress is a tad bright. It's an old one of Lady Mary's from before the. . ."

"I wasn't talking about the dress," he interrupted. "It's you . . . your smile that radiates."

He could tell she was blushing as she looked down at the dirt path and kicked a small rock as they strolled.

"You know," he looked down with a mischievous gleam, "I wouldn't be surprised if you had a few of them asking for your hand before the shift is over."

Anna laughed, "Well, I'll have to tell them that I am already spoken for."

But she wasn't.

She must have felt him tense up because she quickly backtracked. "I didn't mean anything by that, Mr. Bates. I have no right to presume your intentions. I was only. . ."

He stopped along the path interrupting her once again. "Anna, I've already told you, I can't offer you what you want . . . what you deserve."

"But you can. . ."

"No, I can't." He swallowed before continuing. "Anna, I'm not free. And I doubt I'll ever be. You mustn't attach your dreams to me. It would be a great waste and only lead to your unhappiness . . . and I couldn't bear to have you unhappy."

Miles off thunder rumbled. He could tell by the way she squared her shoulders she was ready to spar. He should've known she wouldn't give up quite so easily.

"Well, then my life is going to be a waste. You better get used to me being unhappy."

"I didn't mean. . ."

"I know you didn't. But I'm telling you, you can't be rid of me so easy."

He sighed and closed his eyes before trying again. He had to make her understand. "Anna, I'm not trying to be rid of you. . ."

"Well, then what are you doing?"

John raised his head and met her eyes. He could make out a lot in those eyes: unyielding stubbornness, much confusion, honesty, hurt and yes, love. He had to be candid. She was worthy of nothing less.

But indeed, what was he doing? His head was a muddled mess, as it often was when he was around her.

"I'm not sure."

"Mr. Bates, I have told you I love you." He began to protest. She was saying it again. She didn't know what she was saying. If she did . . . if she knew everything about . . . the war . . . the death . . . coming home . . . Vera. . .

"Stop. Please, let me finish," she commanded placing both hands on his upper arms. His body hummed. A cool breeze swept along the path. It was definitely going to rain.

"I believe you care for me, too." She squeezed his arms. "I'm not asking for you to reciprocate right now, but I want you to know I am willing to have. . ."

At a loss for words, her hands fluttered in front of her. ". . . whatever we can have. I know you're not able to marry me now, but I'll take what can be ours."

God, he loved her. How was she in his life? He didn't warrant the love of such a woman. Hell, he shouldn't even be alive. A guilty pang rang in his heart. Others died, but somehow he had not. Why had he survived?

John couldn't help but still her hands in his. "But you are meant to have more. Can't you see. . . I have nothing to offer you . . . not a home, not a family, not even my name. Would you really be content with walks to the village? A shadowed touch? A hidden kiss? That's all there could ever be between us."

"If that's all there is to be, then I shall rather have something than nothing." She squeezed his hands to make her point.

"Anna, you should have the love of a man who can give you it all." And he would hate that man with a passion.

"Why can't that be you?"

John smiled sadly. Anna was never one to give up. His hand moved of its own volition to her cheek; his dark glove in contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes closed with a soft sigh.

"If it was up to me. . ."

Her eyes blinked open. "But have you even tried?"

"Tried what?"

"To find her . . . to find Vera."

Just the sound of her name grated on his brain. It conjured dark images that had been locked away. So distant they almost seemed an ugly chapter from a book he read, not his life. But the mere mention of her name brought them roaring back to his consciousness. And how he hated her name even more hearing it roll off Anna's tongue. Those two parts of his life should be forever separate, never to mix. He would not have her life poisoned by Vera. The sky released another round of thunder, closer now.

"I haven't . . ." he stumbled, his hand falling to his side. "I wouldn't know where to start looking."

"Well, Mr. Bates, perhaps before you claim you have nothing to offer me, you should make sure that's the case. One thing is for sure, she will never be found if you never look."

John wasn't sure he wanted to look.

"Anna, I don't. . . "

"Look, I don't want to fight," she sighed gazing off into the distance. "You must realize, I only signed up to volunteer so as to spend time with you."

He brought her chin up and his eyes crinkled. "And I only agreed for the very same reason."

"Well then," she declared with forced cheerfulness taking his arm, "should we continue on before we get soaked?"

"As you wish," he deferred as they continued on down the path. If only he could give her what she truly wished for.

* * *

They raced the across the village lane to the hospital as fast as John could move. In one hand, he leaned on his cane. In the other, he held up one end of his wool coat while Anna lifted the other and together draped it over their heads to avoid being completely drenched. By the time they made it inside the hospital vestibule and slammed the door behind them, they were a dripping mess. They simply looked at each other and laughed. It felt good. It always did with Anna. It almost made him believe he could want for more in his life. Almost.

"Oh, good you made it," Lady Sybil Crawley rounded the corner in her nurse's uniform. "I wasn't sure if you'd come with all the rain."

"Ah, a little rain isn't enough to keep us away. Right, Mr. Bates?"

"We wouldn't miss the chance to help," John fibbed as shook off the rain and wiped his feet. Well, he would have if he could. As the familiar antiseptic smell filled his nostrils, he very much wished he had stayed back at Downton. But Anna had asked; there was no way he could've said no. He just wasn't that strong.

"Good, good," Sybil cooed and gave them a warm smile. "Hang up your coats and follow me and we can figure out how you can best help us."

Sybil led them through the main staging room of the hospital where row after row of beds were filled with men recovering from their wounds. John took a deep breath and focused on the back of her nursing habit as they walked down a center aisle. He wouldn't let his eyes stray left or right. He couldn't.

"This is where all our patients sleep. As they heal they can get up, stretch their legs, wander around the yard in back. Currently we have roughly fifty officers here, but have another hundred or so on a waiting list. We're in great need of another location with additional space if the war. . ."

Sybil's speech was interrupted by a patient ranting. John couldn't prevent his head from turning toward the commotion across the room.

"Listen love, it doesn't matter how many times you smile that bloody patronizing smile at me or tell me, 'you can do it', my hand isn't going grow back and my legs aren't going to miraculously start moving. So why don't you just leave me the Hell alone."

The patient flopped back onto his bed from the crutches two nurses had been helping him stand with. His shoulders sagged as he leaned forward, a crumpled mess. Unruly dark curls fell across his check. John could feel the utter despair resonate from across the room. He knew it all too well. He also had yelled and ripped into nurses. He had been a nasty cuss. Nobody wanted to be the one to help John Bates. And he hadn't wanted their help either. All he wanted was to lay there, to be left alone. He had just wanted to die.

"Mr. Bates?"

John shook himself back to present to see worried eyes peering up at him.

"Mr. Bates, are you all right?" Anna pressed.

"Yes, I'm fine," he reassured with a half smile. A bead of sweat made a trail down his brow.

Sybil just noticing they had stopped turned around. He could see that she was curious about why he was stalled in the middle of the aisle.

"Most of our patients are pleasant to be around, real gentleman, but there are exceptions," she noted as a way of explanation before continuing on.

"Come on now," Anna prodded with an apprehensive smile lightly tugging on his jacket sleeve.

"Yes, yes . . . I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered back. But didn't he? So many had died, yet he lived. He returned to muck up his life to beyond recognition. He couldn't give Anna what she deserved.

They followed Sybil into a kitchen. On one side of the room, several cooks were preparing patient lunches on an industrial stove. On the other, a nurse was measuring out medication.

"This is our nurses' headquarters; not very large, I'm afraid. We get everything ready for the patients in here: meals, medicine, dressings, etc."

John glanced around the busy room perhaps he could be lucky enough to stow away in here for the duration of their shift.

"Now, neither of you have had experience within a hospital, correct?

Anna just shook her head and stole a look at John. He knew what she was thinking. He had more experience than probably most of the nurses. Sybil also picked up on the irony of her question.

"Well, that is volunteering in a hospital," she quickly amended. "I was thinking that, Anna, you could walk around to the bedsides with the book cart and read to the patients if they wish. A friendly face does a world of good for the men."

He couldn't help and smirk down at Anna. She was serving the exact purpose he had said. Her eyes laughed back up at him.

"That would be just fine, Lady Sybil."

"Please, around here, I am Nurse Crawley," she informed them leaning in conspiratorially. "And if truth be told, it's nice to shed the title, at least for part of the day."

"Very well, Nurse Crawley," Anna complied with a grin.

"The library cart is the hallway. You can go ahead and start."

She gave John a reassuring smile and headed off to begin her task.

"Now Mr. Bates," Sybil began looking at him thoughtfully. "Not everybody needs to work with patients. We have a lot of behind the scenes work that needs to be done."

Bless her heart. He had always been impressed with the ambition and compassion of the Earl's youngest daughter. What she had done for Gwen had been quite admirable. Now her ability to access the situation and his apprehension only raised his esteem.

"Wherever I may be of service."

"All right. Grab that metal tub over there. . ."

* * *

The smell. He had forgotten how pungent it could be. How was the life force of man so rancid outside the body?

John reached down and picked up another soiled dressing from the pile. Coated with crusty blood, the linen was brick red in color. How could these men bleed so much and still be alive?

He dipped the cloth into the tub of water already murky from prior scrubbings. After soaking it, he began to rub it against the washboard.

As his fingers ran the dressing over the board again and again, the smell wafted up in the air stronger and stronger. It took him back. John couldn't stop his mind from revisiting the past.

The smell was the same. He could feel the dry cracked land under his boots. The African sun was unrelenting, so much fuller and brighter than back in England.

His fingers continued to run across the bumps of the washboard. Over and over. Flesh against metal. He could smell the blood. He could hear the sound of bayonets. Flesh against metal. Never had he heard a more horrific sound than a bayonet ripping into a man's gut, cracking his bones, scraping his skull.

He kept up the rubbing, breathing shallow, eyes closed. He had to block this, bottle it back up. But the smell permeated his whole body. He remembered. He was lying there again, on top of Robert, his knee throbbing, bleeding. Those men were standing only a few feet away from them, standing above their mate. Down came the bayonet and John squeezed his eyes shut but the awful sound seared his brain.

"I can't take any more of that man!" Sybil stalked into the kitchen slamming down a tray snapping John's conscious back to the sights and smells of the kitchen. His knuckles were raw and his shirt sweaty.

A plump cook looked over her shoulder, "Captain Hemmings giving you a hard time again?"

"You guessed it," she grimaced. "This time he berated me about being the last one served. I tried to ignore his complaints, but he found out somehow that I hold a title and he started in about how should go back to my tea parties and costume balls, that I was of no use to anyone.

John had little doubt which patient she was speaking of. He had done the same thing. He had angered the nurses, egged them on purposefully, just so they would leave him alone. Just so they would hate him, because he didn't deserve kindness, not after Africa.

"Ah sweetheart, don't let that thick-headed man get you upset. He's not worth it. You do such a fine job with the men," the cook reassured her.

Sybil sighed as she prepared the next tray. "I know, but he really gets to me. He is so ungrateful for everything. I know he is frustrated. I know his life will never be the same. But he's alive. He should consider himself lucky. He made it home when so many others did not."

"I wager he might rather be with those others," John ventured quietly from his seat behind the tub in the corner.

She glanced up surprised at his entry into the conversation. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she blindly put food on the tray.

Another sigh escaped. "Perhaps you're right, Mr. Bates. It's just that he irritates me to no end. I dread taking him his tray," she admitted nodding to the tray.

Even though bringing a tray to a surly patient was the last thing he wanted to do, his conscious reared its head. _A gentleman always assists a lady;_ he could hear his mother words. Though he had serious doubts he was gentleman, Sybil was a lady. He ought to help.

"Let me take it then. I'm almost done with these bandages." At her doubtful look, he pushed on, "It will do my leg good to move around some."

"Are you sure? Captain Hemmings is a piece of work. I hate to subject you to his attacks."

"Don't worry," he reassured pushing himself out of his chair and joining her at the counter. "I can manage."

"All right. Thank you, Mr. Bates. You're a saint."

If she only knew the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Two chapters in a week? Unheard of for me, right? Actually, I had initially written chapters 1 and 2 as a single chapter, but it became too long. I hope the break between chapter flows all right. **_

_**Neuve Chapelle is an actual WW1 Battle which took place in early March, 1915. It was especially brutal for the British and Indian units fighting. **_

_**Thanks for everyone reading and reviewing. I know this isn't exactly the cheeriest story, but will hopefully bring John some closure and a resolution with Anna.**_

* * *

**Chapter 2: **

John carefully balanced the tray in one hand while he leaned on his cane with the other. As he made his way across the room, she caught sight of Anna laughing with a young soldier. Red hot jealously streaked through him. But just as fast, it was offset with sad resignation. Other men, younger men, had so much to offer her. He should never hold her back, but that's preciously what he had been doing.

As he approached the last bed, he could see Hemmings laid out with his eyes closed. A bandaged stump of a lower arm rested on his abdomen. Both of his legs were also wrapped up from knees to toes. He appeared to be a sleep. Perhaps he could just set the tray down and escape back to the kitchen.

"So I scared the princess back to her tea party," the younger man declared without opening his eyes.

"I have your lunch, sir,"

"They've had it with me and sent in the cavalry, is that it? Here to lecture me? Tell me to shape up?" Hemmings goaded, opening his eyes and sizing John up.

"I've just brought your lunch." He was trying to get a reaction, any reaction out of him. _Just ignore him._ All he had to do was put the tray down and get back to the kitchen.

"She really is too delicate if she can't be around all this. If she can't stand to see. . ." he held up his shortened arm to prove his point. ". . . what it does to a man."

John set down the tray. _Just go back to the kitchen_. He had done what Lady Sybil had asked. But somehow he couldn't prevent the words from leaving his mouth. He couldn't resist countering his former self.

"Nurse Crawley is anything but delicate. She signed up to become a nurse the first month of the war. After she finished her training, she's been working here continuously day and night. She doesn't have to, but she chooses to."

The younger man's eyes narrowed. He wasn't used to being challenged. John knew he should stop, usually his control was solid, but he kept going.

"It's not because she's too delicate that she doesn't want to assist you. It's because you're being a bastard and treating her and everyone here without a shred of decency." He slightly cringed as he replayed the words he just uttered. No doubt the ornery soldier would take offense. John mentally chastised himself. It was likely that he, and by association Anna, would not be welcomed back.

But instead of raging, a long sigh escaped Hemmings as he closed his eyes once more.

"I know," he admitted wearily.

John turned away. That was him in another time. He needed to get back to the kitchen, fast. He swiftly rounded the bedside to head down the aisle. Just ahead Anna sat with a different patient. Only this time she wasn't smiling or even looking at her charge. Instead she was observing John with anxious eyes. _What's going on? _ She messaged across the room. He tried to reassure her with a wan smile, but he knew she was unconvinced.

"So that's it? No inspiring words. No 'hang in there'. No 'cheer up, things will look up'."

John turned back to the captain. Apparently, their exchange wasn't over.

"I'm not sure if things will look up for you."

"Well, at least you're honest," he snickered. "Most give me false praise and a phony smile."

Not knowing what else to say, John started to leave again.

"We're you in the war?" Hemmings nodded toward his cane.

"A war . . . not this war." At the other man's curious look, he added, "Africa. Fighting the Boars."

He nodded in respect and acceptance of John's past. Then pushing himself up on his good arm, sat up in bed and confided, "I know I'm a bastard. I can't help it. I don't want their help. I don't deserve it."

This was not how this situation was supposed to play out. All John had to do was deliver the tray, but now this soldier was seeking out his company and looking for solace. He didn't want to talk about war, his war or Hemming's. He had never discussed his experiences with a living soul. He had tried to with Vera, but she wouldn't have it. She just berated him for coming back crippled and damaged, her plans for the future ruined. And he couldn't burden Anna. She would lend an ear, but he didn't want her to know the ugliness. He didn't want her stained by the brutality he witnessed.

But in the man's dark eyes, he saw a despair and self-loathing all too familiar. If only someone had taken the time to listen to him during his hospital stay, his life might have been different.

Giving in, John pulled up a chair along the bedside. "Now, why would you say that, sir?"

"I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be alive. I was the only one who survived out of my unit."

A pit in the bottom of John's stomach began to form as Hemmings continued. "We had been in country for only two weeks when the offensive at Neuve Chapelle began. It was our first glimpse of the war. Oh, they tried to make it so damn precise. We had to start our attack at same time all along the line. So here I am, the captain of the regiment, counting down the seconds with my pocket watch. Do you know the agony . . . counting down to the death of your men?"

Yes, he knew, but John merely swallowed.

"Well, the time came to attack and as captain I was the first one out of the trenches. I wasn't out for two seconds before a shell landed a few feet away knocking me unconscious and directly back into the trenches. I remember nothing after that."

Be thankful, you don't remember more, John wanted to say.

"I woke up days later to find that I was the lone survivor of Battalion 476, Regiment 34 A. Me. Only me."

It had been him. And Robert. They had been the only ones of their unit. A strange sense of kinship began to take root.

Hemmings paused, his face crumpling a bit as tears welled in his eyes. "People keep telling me I'm lucky. But I just think I'm cursed to come back when the rest didn't. Why did I survive?"

It was a question that could dog a man his whole life. It used to consume him. It used to lead him to the pub every night.

"They don't understand. . . I just want to die."

But John understood.

"But you didn't and you won't, not for a while anyhow."

"I don't know about that. A man can only take so much." His meaning obvious as he wiped away falling tears.

Suicide, rock bottom. John didn't want to remember how many times, both drunk and sober, he had held his service revolver to his head, his finger hovering over the trigger. But he just couldn't do it. There had always been a niggling in the back of his mind. _There is more to life, more to come_.

He readjusted his seating on the hard chair and leaned in. "You won't do it. It's harder than you think. But you must decide whether you going to simply exist or are you going to live."

With no response given in return, John continued. "I existed for many years once I arrived home from Africa. I existed in the army hospital. I existed while I alienated my friends and family. I existed while I drowned the pain and memory away in a drunken stupor night after night. I existed while my self-respect all but disappeared.

"But what happened?" Hemmings sniffed, gathering his composure. "You seem right and proper now."

"Prison."

"Prison? You were in prison? What crime did you commit?"

He laughed inwardly at the disbelief on the captain's face. "I didn't commit any, but it was necessary for me to go. . . .I don't know if you'll understand, but it was cleansing. It made me realize. . .

John lowered his head and tried to pull his thoughts together just right, ". . .that although living, truly living, and not just existing, is often painful and heartbreaking, it is worth it. . . It is worth it to be among the living. The bottom of a bottle may dull the hurt, but it also dulls life's beauty. . ."

His voice broke as his eyes met younger ones, "to share a laugh, ponder philosophy, make a friend . . . fall in love."

He couldn't help it; he had to seek her out. His eyes darted down the row of beds before settling on her. As if she knew he was searching, Anna raised her head and smiled. His soul could feel her warmth.

"Well, I don't know about love. My fiancée took one look at me and hightailed out of here."

"That's what I used to think too. But you never know." John asserted still watching Anna.

"She's lovely, indeed."

"Who?" he asked turning back to Hemmings.

"Your wife." Nodding at Anna across the room.

John started to shake his head. "My wife? How did. . ."

"How did I know? Well, for one thing you two came in together. But for another, she's been anxiously looking over here every minute or so. Probably afraid I'm going to bash this tray over your head or something like that," Hemmings chuckled. "But even if I hadn't seen that, the smile she just gave you said it all.

He should correct him. She wasn't his wife. Hell, she wasn't even his intended. But he did love her.

"You are a lucky man."

If only he could have her as his wife. Then he would be more than lucky. He would be happy.

"I suppose I am," was all that he could answer.

As if she knew she was the topic of conversation, Anna appeared at the end of the bed.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt," she smiled down at Hemming, then turned to John, "But we best be on our way. We don't want to be late."

"Yes, all right," he agreed rising out of the stiff chair. "Well, sir, enjoy your lunch."

Hemmings extended his good arm for a handshake. When John accepted it, he gave Anna an appraising look and added, "You really are a lucky man."

John could feel a blush bloom across his face as he and Anna walked back to the vestibule to gather their coats.

"Mr. Bates, are you feeling all right?" Anna asked as he helped her into her jacket.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, you're quite red."

"It's just a bit muggy after the rain." Her slight smirk indicated that she doubted his explanation.

As he opened the hospital's door, her smile faded and she adopted a solemn tone. "That was nice of you to sit with the captain. Sybil says he hasn't had a civil word for anyone since the day he arrived."

"He's hurting. He just needed someone to hear him out. I suppose we all need that sometimes." John offered his arm as they left and gazed up at the beautiful blue sky that had taken the place of the earlier storm clouds.

"Even you?" Anna paused while a wagon rumbled down the lane.

"Even me," he softly agreed.

"You know, I'm always there for you if you ever want to talk about. . ."

His past. John gave her a half smile. He had no doubt that she would be there. But he had no right to saddle her with it. Yet he loved her all the same for making the offer. They crossed the lane in step.

"Now why did the captain look straight at me when he said you were 'a lucky man'?"

Because he believed I was married to the beautiful and amazing woman standing at my side. If only that was true. If only he could find Vera. If only. . . _There is more to life, more to come._

"Mr. Bates?"

Making a split second decision, John disentangled from Anna. "I forgot. I have some business in the village that I must see to."

"Now?" she asked incredulously. "We have to be back to dress the family."

"Go ahead," he called as he started off in the opposite direction. "Don't worry, I won't be late. I wouldn't risk giving Mr. Carson a heart attack."

She still looked unconvinced but turned to head towards Downton.

"And Anna," he called from behind. "I'm lucky because you grace my life."

Not waiting for a response, John pivoted and limped determinately up the lane toward the local solicitor's office.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: So John's long day only gets worse. . .**_

_**Historical note: There were actually five battles at Ypres. The one mentioned in this chapter is the 2**__**nd**__** Battle of Ypres which took place during April/May, 1915. The incredibly brutal and senseless nature of the war can be seen in the fact that over a half million men died fighting over the same piece of land during a four year span. **_

_**In case you're wondering, this whole story is from John's POV because it really is his story to tell, his past to come to grips with. But by the last chapter or so (I am envisioning six), it will be very much both his and Anna's story. **_

_**Appreciate everyone reading and all the kind reviews!**_

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

A rather warm afternoon replaced the cool morning. A sweat broke out on his brow as he made his way back to Downton, the wool coat not nearly as comfortable as it had been on the way to the hospital.

John was drained. Sitting with Captain Hemmings had allowed all sorts of memories and emotions to bubble to the surface. Ones he did not wish to recall at all. Yet he had to admit remembering Africa and the darkness that followed did allow him to marshal the strength necessary to seek out a solicitor and attempt to find Vera.

It hadn't been exactly the most promising meeting. There wasn't any guarantee she could be found. And if she was, obtaining a divorce might prove exceedingly difficult and costly. But the first steps had been taken. For Anna, he would begin the search, one that promised to dredge up even more of his sordid past. For Anna, it was worth it.

John checked his pocket watch as he stepped through the servants' entrance. 4:17pm. Good. He still had plenty of time to make his way upstairs and dress Robert for the evening.

But something was amiss; only silence greeted him. The long downstairs hallway was empty, not a soul. Usually it was a buzz with servants especially at this hour. He walked past the kitchen. It was also deserted. What was the devil was going on? Dinner would be served in just a few hours. Where was the cooking staff? Mrs. Patmore?

Then he saw Robert emerge from the servants' dining hall. How odd. He rarely made an appearance below stairs. If there were issues with the household, his wife usually attended to them. Something was wrong, very wrong. John could feel it in his bones.

Hearing his stick tap along the stone floor, Robert turned his way. Christ, were those tears in his eyes?

"Oh Bates, I am so glad you're back," the Earl struggled before continuing. "They need your strength, especially the ladies."

Before John could inquire what was the matter, Robert wiped his eyes, his composure faltering, "I must go. You will excuse me." With that he hurried down the hall.

As he took a step towards the doorway of the dining hall, muffled voices and weeping echoed out into the lonely hallway. It was Mrs. Hughes he saw first, standing at the head of the table wringing a handkerchief in her hands. Mr. Carson stood nearby, his eyes red-rimmed. John quickly surveyed the room. It was crowded with a whole menagerie of staff: maids, cooks, stable boys. He even recognized Mr. Stanton, the head gardener, who rarely ever ventured inside the doors of Downton.

But his eyes gravitated to the three ladies directly in front of him. There sat Daisy with her head resting on Mrs. Patmore's bosom, tears silently streaming down her face. Conversely, Mrs. Patmore's weeping boomed throughout the whole room. But John's heart plummeted as he saw Anna standing next to them lightly rubbing Daisy's shoulders. Her eyes were wet and she bit her lip to maintain control.

During the three years they had been acquainted, he had witnessed Anna display a myriad emotions. He had seen her both joyful and angry. He had seen her curious of her world and hopeful for its future. He had seen her righteously indignant. He had even seen her melancholy . . . of which he regrettably had been the cause. Though not visible, she very much wore her heart on the sleeve of her maid's uniform. Yet, not once had he seen such sorrow emanate from her.

"Mr. Bates!" Anna choked out realizing he had entered the hall. The tears she held back now spilled over.

Instinct took over as he opened up and started towards her. With no coaxing required, she was in his embrace in two quick steps. Her arm snaked around his body inside the unbuttoned wool coat.

John pulled her tight against him, closed his eyes and rested his cheek upon her silky hair. Regardless of the turmoil in the hall, serenity washed over him. To finally, after all these years, have her in his arms, to feel her soft, sturdy body meshed against his. . . it felt so bloody fine.

No matter how perfect their embrace, the reality was they were standing in a very crowded room of their peers and supervisors. Their position was not proper by any means, but when he had seen her tears, propriety had fled along with any good sense.

John raised his head and glanced around expecting to see shock on their co-workers' faces. Only no one seemed to care or notice them. Why not? They were smack dab in the middle of the room, hardly hidden from view. What was going on? The unknown was beginning to make him incredibly nervous.

Still slightly cocooned within his coat, Anna raised her face at him. Tears still wet her cheeks but she managed to get out, "It's all so awful."

God, it hurt seeing her cry. John never considered himself a very empathetic man. He had enough problems in his own life to worry about someone else's. But it was different with Anna. He wanted to absorb all her pain and sorrow, rid it from her body. He hugged her tighter hoping to transfer the anguish from her body to his.

Ever so softly he asked, "Now what could be so awful?"

"It's William. . ." she managed before burrowing her head deeper into his suit jacket.

A queasy feeling began to take root. This wasn't something he wanted to hear. It was going to be bad. He knew it. . . William . . . He had been in France for the past couple of months. Nobody had heard from him for weeks . . . William . . . John could see him standing in his brand new infantry outfit in this very room when he had stopped by on leave at Christmas. This very room. Full of naïve pride for King and country. John had wanted to call him a fool, tell him what a living hell war really was, that he should reconsider, stay back, but all he could muster was "Good luck. Be safe." What good those words were.

A gruff voice cleared itself. "Mr. Bates," Mr. Carson began taking a deep breath. "His Lordship just got word from William's father that he was among those lost at Ypres."

"Dead?" Even though John knew it would be true, he still needed confirmation.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Another loud wail came from Mrs. Patmore. Anna's arm tightened around his back. John felt queasy.

"And for what? A few yards of land? It ended in a bloody stalemate," Tom Branson railed from his seat across the room.

"Steady now, Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes lightly chastised. "That doesn't help anyone."

"But it's true. There's no sense to this war," Branson continued working himself into a fury. "It's all about imperial greed, but it's the working man who pays the price . . . and too often the price is his life."

The chauffeur shook his head in disgust. "I need some fresh air," he declared pushing out of his chair and stomping from the room.

Though John didn't completely buy Branson's class warfare politics, he did agree that there was no sense to this war or for that matter most wars. Noble causes existed in theory, but in truth there was nothing noble about taking another's life. He should know. Dear God, poor William. He deserved better. He deserved to live a long life, not dead at twenty.

An upstairs bell chimed awakening the gathered mass from their reverie. Despite their shock and grief, time continued on. They all had work to do. This was something John learned first-hand after returning from Africa. No matter the hurt he carried or the scars he bore, people kept moving on. Though he had often wanted to stop, nobody was in position to stop with him; nobody would even slow down with him.

Anna pulled away only now realizing the inappropriate nature of their hold. A slight blush appeared to match the red around her nose and eyes.

But he wasn't ready to break their connection. He needed to hold on to something. As she moved to take a step away, John found her hand and interlocked it with his. Surprised, Anna's head snapped up. He gave her a squeeze for reassurance.

"Ladies and gentleman, as difficult as it might be this evening, we still have jobs to do," Mr. Carson addressed the staff. "I dare say William would want us to carry on."

Carry on. Go about the insignificant: dressing, cooking, bowing, serving. How sad those closest to the lad weren't even allowed an evening to fully grieve. John glanced around the room. He had never seen so much sorrow in one place. Was this what it was like when news arrived home of a lost soldier? Had it been a similar sight in the homes of the thirty eight men who didn't return from their regiment? How many wives, children, sweethearts, friends were bowed under by the weight of grief? He made it back, but no one would have mourned him if he hadn't. Well, his mother would have, but not Vera, not much at least. How was it fair to all those families that he survived? John's stomach began to churn. Anna must have sensed he wasn't doing well; she slightly pressed his now clammy hand and eyed him anxiously.

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Mrs. Patmore struggled to pull herself together. "Mr. Carson, might I ask a favor before everyone's takes their leave . . . I think it'd be fitting if we said a prayer for William."

"Right, good idea," Mr. Carson concurred. "Now everyone, if you would please bow your heads. . ."

He needed to get out of there. The last thing John wanted to do was pray. His faith was among the many pieces of himself shattered while fighting the Boars. How could he pray to a god that would allow such a horrific war to occur in the first place? God's will, some say. If so, why would he want to show devotion to such a deity? William was just a boy. They had all been boys back then too. Their faces unlined, but their skin tanned under the relentless African sun. He needed to get out of there.

"_Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. . ."_

As Mr. Carson's deep voice rang out throughout the hall, John stole a quick peek down at Anna. Her head was bowed and eyes closed. He hated to leave her side, but he had to.

"_Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. . ._"

With a slight caress over the back of her hand, he pulled his hand from hers and took a step towards the door.

"_Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. . ._"

Before exiting, John couldn't stop himself from looking back at Anna one last time. Her head now up; their eyes locked. He could tell she was confused and concerned. How he hated to be the cause of even a moment's worry.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed as he silently backed out the door.

"_And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. . ._"

It was too late. He had witnessed enough evil to last a lifetime.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this next installment up. . .Traveling with small children (by myself!) coupled with 100 degree weather hasn't be too conducive to writing! **

**I hope the smoking lingo is somewhat accurate sounding. I'm not a smoker. . .or British. . .or from 1915, so it might be off. **

**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy this chapter. . .**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

John closed his eyes and took a long drag from the cigarette. Leaning back against the rough brick wall of the courtyard, smoke filtered around his head as he exhaled. The tar and tobacco that filled his nostrils was slightly nauseating.

He shifted his weight a bit; his knee throbbing more than usual. He really should sit down. He inhaled again. It's not that he was incredibly fond of smoking. A dirty habit, really. He disdained the discoloration of nails and teeth that came from it. Yet it had ferried him through many excruciating nights in prison, a thin substitute when the liquor became abruptly unavailable.

But that was the past; he hadn't puffed a fag since coming to Downton. But tonight . . . tonight was different. He was going to need help to make it through the bloody evening.

He wryly smiled as lifted his head up to blow a ring of smoke. He had scared the poor stable boy out of his wits earlier this evening. After abandoning Anna in the servants' hall, John had to escape. To walk away, to keep his jumbled thoughts at bay before attempting to go upstairs and dress Robert for dinner. He headed down the path towards the stables for no particular reason, just a blinding need to flee.

As he reached the stables he smelled the unmistakable odor of someone lighted up. Despite never having worked outside at Downton, he knew the rules: No fire near the stables, including cigarettes, pipes and cigars. An errant flame or ash could rip through a barn filled with hay and other flammable items in no time flat.

The path rounded a corner towards the front of the stables and John saw a small stable boy sitting alone on threshold of the barn door smoking. He had to be at least thirteen to work at Downton, but he looked no more than ten years of age. Bartholomew, that's what his name was. Mr. Carson was adamant that every employee of the Abbey be introduced at the beginning of each season. John remembered sharing a laugh with Anna over the large appellation for such a diminutive child.

Bartholomew quickly stubbed out his smoke on the bottom of his shoe and scampered to his feet.

"I'm so-sorry, Sir," the boy stammered out. John wasn't sure if he was simply startled to be discovered or startled to be discovered by him in particular. He knew he was intimidating and a bit mysterious to the younger staff. Downton's own Quasimodo. He sure felt like he had a hunchback some days.

"You know the rules, lad. No smoking out here," John laid out firmly but without malice. This day was already too long to deal with a delinquent smoker.

"I know. . . It's just that I heard about William. He was really kind to me when I first came on last summer. . . .And I wanted to be alone somewhere."

John could understand that completely. It was so hard to find solitude in a house inhabited by hundreds.

"Ahh, Mr. Bates, you're not going to tell . . . are you?"

John couldn't help but smile down at the boy. He had snuck cigarettes when he was that age and smoked them a whole manner of places he shouldn't have including the family's barn, privy and upstairs attic.

"I won't tell. . ." a sigh of relief came from young Bartholomew. "on one condition. . ."

Now the lad's pack of fags sat in his breast pocket, a bit of security to get him through the night.

He should just throw them out. He didn't really need them, did he? The truth was he had abandoned the habit years ago . . . for her. Not that she had ever asked him to. She had never even seen him light up. It was during dinner his very first night at Downton. He had been an unwanted addition to the staff; nobody seemed to have faith in his abilities except for the pretty blonde housemaid sitting to his right.

"Well, off they go again," Anna rolled her eyes as the surly lady's maid and first footman left the servants' hall in tandem.

"Go where?" John asked his dining companion.

"Oh, for a smoke or two out in the back courtyard." Good information. He had been wondering where it was appropriate to do so.

Anna grinned at him as she continued, "It's also where they do their 'plotting'."

John's mouth quirked up. "So there is a lot of 'plotting' done around here?"

Giggling a bit, she concurred, "Yes, Mr. Bates, with them quite a bit. . . But you know what annoys me most? Those two end up taking twice as many breaks as the rest of us because they got to have their fag. Doesn't seem right to me."

From then on, smoking greatly lost its appeal. How could he when he knew it wouldn't be fair to Anna, the only person at Downton willing to give him a fair shake?

But tonight he needed something to get him through. He took another lengthy drag. It calmed his nerves a bit, put things out of his mind.

"Mr. Bates?"

At the sound of her voice, he ripped the cigarette from his mouth and hastily ground it out against the brick at his back. He turned towards her with what he hoped not an entirely guilty look. Jesus, he wasn't any smoother than the lad he caught earlier.

"Are you all right, Mr. Bates?" Confusion was evident in her voice. "You weren't at dinner."

"No, I wasn't."

Anna walked into a patch of moonlight. Her face was drawn and a bit pale, exhaustion evident. He cursed himself a bastard. Here he was trying to escape his own past and pain and the woman he loved was suffering herself. How selfish to think he was the only one hurting.

"How are you, my dear?" John couldn't stop himself from reaching out and cupping her cheek. Anna closed her eyes for a moment. It was the first time he had ever uttered a term of endearment.

"Gutted," Anna leaned in towards him, only inches separated their bodies. "It's just so sad to think we'll never see William again. That we never got to say goodbye, at least not a proper goodbye."

Hearing her words tore at John's heart. He had an overwhelming need to alleviate her pain. His hand strayed from her cheek to run down her neck and back. He drew her close.

A dam had been broken with their earlier embrace, no shyness existed anymore, propriety no longer a concern. She melted against him; both arms around his middle and her head pillowed on his chest. Neither of them moved. A slight breeze feathered them. With so much wrong in the world, this felt so right.

"But I'll be fine," Anna assured him gaining her composure pulling back slightly. "I worry about the others."

"How is everyone fairing?"

"Walking about in a daze. Still going on with their jobs: dressing, cooking, serving, but without any thought. Mr. Carson began to polish a set of silver right after dinner. I came back an hour later and he was still polishing the same set, the same pieces, over and over. I don't even think he realized what he was doing. And Mrs. Patmore keeps cooking. She didn't stop with dinner. She says she needs to make more cakes for tomorrow. I think she figures as long as her hands and mind are busy baking, she won't think of William."

Silence ensued once again. Anna laid her head upon his chest again. It probably wasn't the best idea to hold her. Anyone could walk out and see them. More importantly, what right did he have to even have his hands on her? He was a married man who was unlikely to change that status anytime soon. But God, it felt good. He tightened his hold around her smaller frame.

"Mr. Bates?"

"Hmm…"

"How are you fairing? I know William's death is harder on you than you're letting on."

John stiffened up. He knew Anna felt it. She lifted her face up. He could just make out the blue of her eyes in the dim courtyard.

"Anna, I. . ."

The back door creaked open. Anna skittered out of his arms. He sighed and leaned back against the brick.

"Anna, are you out here? Did you find Mr. Bates?" Mrs. Hughes called.

"Yes, I did. We're out here," she answered back, looking up John in the darkness.

"You both better come in. The family is ready for bed."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes, we're coming."

But neither John nor Anna budged. He could tell she wanted to pick up the thread of their conversation. She wanted to know why he had left the servants' hall so abruptly earlier, why he had missed dinner, why he was such a mess.

"Well, we best get going," he reached down and picked up his cane off a nearby crate. He met her eyes one more time. They were teeming with unstated compassion. Maybe one day when he was stronger and things weren't so raw, he could risk telling her. It would be nice to tell somebody, someday. But not tonight.

As he made his way past her towards the back door, she called out. "And Mr. Bates, if you want to take a smoke, you don't have to hide it. I never want you to think you have to be someone you're not around me."

He had a feeling she wasn't talking just about smoking.

John held the back door open for her. She paused in the doorway. "You are who you are and I love the man that you are."

But she didn't know the man he had been.

* * *

"Well, it certainly hits home now, doesn't it?

Dressing for dinner had thankfully been a silent endeavor. Robert spoke no more than a half dozen words throughout and rarely made eyes contact. John knew him well enough that when Robert was silent, he truly wished to be left alone. Seldom was the Earl at a loss for words, but when he was John understood not to engage him.

But now hours and several brandy snifters later, Robert wanted to talk.

John had often wondered if he ever had meaningful conversations with anyone else at Downton. Did he and her ladyship ever discuss anything more significant than redecorating the parlor or who attended the latest charity ball? Perhaps Robert and the young Mr. Crawley had in-depth discussions before he left for France.

Plowing ahead with his thoughts, not waiting for a response, Robert continued, "I mean, it's been difficult to read about the casualties as they come in. After awhile you just numb to it all; they just become numbers. Ten thousand here. Twenty thousand there. But it's a lot harder when it's one of your own. It makes my job much more difficult tomorrow. "

The last thing John wanted to do was discuss was the war. Fortunately, Robert didn't seem to require any response from him. At times like this, he knew the best course was to the let him ramble on.

"We'll be planning recruitment tactics for the next two months. And all I will be thinking about is William." John helped Robert into his robe. He turned to fetch his slippers from across the room.

Robert had taken a home front position within the army to assist with enlistment. He was charged with local recruitment for Yorkshire and the surrounding counties. It had come as quite a disappointment when he found out that he would not be assigned a combat position. John, on the other hand, was relieved. The thought of his employer heading back into battle had made him sick to his stomach. But then, Robert never really saw Africa the same as John. He had never witnessed what John had. By chance, he had mercifully been knocked unconscious for the horrors that still haunted his valet.

So with the onset of this new war, the two men came from two separate places. Robert was eager to pick up the flag and fight for Britain and its crown. He happily paraded around Downton in his colonel's uniform. All John could think was countless young men were being once again asked to place their lives in harm's way. . .for what? A nation's honor? Foreign alliances? Imperial greed as Branson claimed? And this time the scale was much greater than it had been in Africa. Instead of hundreds dying at a time, tens of thousands were perishing in a single battle. It made no sense. There was no noble cause.

John placed the slippers in front of where Robert sat on the edge of the bed. As he straightened up and he could see Robert's eyes welling up. "It's not a nameless face this time. For God's sake, it was the boy who served me my pudding and brought me my newspaper each morning."

Despite this rather self-absorbed view of William, John was rather touched by the depth of Robert's grief for his footman. He should say something, make an attempt to console.

"It is quite devastating. William was a kind lad who was a friend to all."

"Quite true which makes the whole story even more ghastly." Whole story? Where was this headed?

"Whole story, My Lord?"

Robert bounded off the bed to stand in front of the large bedroom windows. After a few seconds he turned to face John.

"I didn't want to burden everyone with all I learned from William's father, especially the ladies, but I have to share it with someone or else I'll go mad with the knowledge. And I know you're of mettle to withstand it," Robert declared confidently.

John wasn't so sure, but he stayed with the conversation. "What else did his father tell you?"

"It seems his regiment was along the Ypres line at Gravenstafel Ridge."

"Dear God," John uttered wordlessly.

Gravenstafel. The graveyard of gas. It had been in all the newspapers. Everyone knew of the massacre that occurred there. It was the first time poison gas had been used as a weapon in this war or any before it. The Germans released it upon an unsuspecting and unprepared allied army. Thousands died within a matter of minutes.

"I can't imagine a more terrible fate."

No man should die gasping for breath upon a battlefield. But neither should a man be bayoneted to death while he lay injured and bleeding. All fates were terrible in war. John didn't like thinking about it. He had tried so hard not to think about. It was time to bid goodnight.

But Robert wasn't finished.

"There was a ninety five percent causality rate for their regiment. Ninety five percent!" Robert walked back over to the bed and plopped down. "It got me thinking back to Africa and how lucky to God we were to even come home, the only ones from our regiment."

John looked towards the door and itched to move towards it. He needed to leave. He did not wish to take a trip down memory lane with Robert.

"I always thought it was providence that allowed me to come back to Cora and the girls, that there was a purpose behind it. But sometimes I wonder if it was any more than luck. What say you, Bates?"

John briefly closed his eyes to collect himself. Even though they shared this defining period in their lives, since coming to Downton, he and Robert rarely spoke of Africa and only in passing. They had never discussed in detail their time there; not the places they saw, nor the people they met and most certainly not the day John had been wounded.

"I try not to think on it at all. It's in the past."

Robert contemplated what he said for moment. "Right you are. It's just that at the strangest moments I remember back to the boys in our regiment. Good chaps, all of them. I have such fond memories sitting around the campfire telling tales with a bottle of whiskey. I don't think I ever felt so alive."

Robert had fond memories. All John had was memories. Any good times he had of Africa were destroyed when he watched his regiment systematically butchered before his eyes. Unlike Robert who came alive during the war, all John ended up wanting to do was die.

"Do you remember that extremely tall bloke whose best mate was the short chap with the fiery red hair?"

Did he remember? . . . Yes, he remembered. Imagines of them lying side by side bleeding, one from a head wound, the other in the gut were indelibly imprinted in his mind. One was conscious, the tall one. The other not. The Boers came upon them and without a second thought speared them through.

"Chapmen and Harris, I believe, Sir," John struggled out. His palms were getting sweaty. A cacophony of gunfire, bayonets and anguished cries were beginning to ring in his head.

"Yes, you're right, Bates," Robert exclaimed with enthusiasm; a smile crossing his face for the first time this evening. "You have a fantastic memory. Do you also remember the imitations the short one . . .Harris, right. . .could do? He did a remarkable King Edward. Hilarious." John remembered. It had been quite funny. He wanted to smile, but couldn't with some many other memories crowding it out.

Robert laughed out loud. "And the tall one could do all sorts of odd body tricks, touch his nose with his tongue and make his ears wiggle. . .one at a time. What a pair those two made!"

Indeed, what a pair they were. How he wished his recollections of them weren't so tainted.

"Do you remember the time in camp when Harris started making wild animal sounds to scare the troops who had just arrived in country? And Parker was the officer on duty. I swear it took him the better part of the night to quell the chaos."

John couldn't prevent a small grin from tugging at the corners of his mouth this time.

"Now, Parker. . .there was a fine soldier." Even over a decade later, John could still remember how well Robert got along with his second in command. "And what was his batman's name. . .O'Reilly? O'Conner? Something Irish, wasn't it?

O'Donnell. Seamus O'Donnell. He had been John's best friend. It had been a good five years since he had truly thought of Seamus, but now that he had, John could vividly hear his rich Irish baritone as if it were yesterday. Even now, he missed his mate.

"O'Donnell," John choked out as he took hold of the bed's post to steady himself. Seamus had been like a brother. He was gregarious to John's reserve. Told the dirtiest jokes, but he could recite the most beautiful poetry by heart. A philosopher by nature, but he had no use for politics. God, they had been close. It would be nice to think back on their time together. But if he remembered how Seamus lived, he'd remember how he died. It was right there on the cusp of his consciousness. _Man, think of something else, anything._

"Oh yes, that's what it was. They were fine men, Parker and O'Donnell. No, they were the best of men." Robert paused shaking his head completely oblivious to John' s torment. "And to think how they died. . .They deserved better."

Sweat trickled down John's face. He could see Seamus struggling to get up even though his leg had a hole in it. A Boer came up and smacked him upside the back of the head with a rifle butt knocking him unconscious. There only feet from John his best friend was killed.

The bedroom floor seemed to tip. A dizziness swarmed John's head. The edges of his vision began to blacken. _Not here_, he commanded himself. _Not in front of Robert_.

His legs buckled and he stumbled a few steps. He held tight to the bed post. His breathing was labored as he tried to draw in as much air as he could to avert completely passing out.

"Bates! Steady now, sit down," Robert commanded as he rushed over to John's side.

John did as he was told and sat down on the Earl's bed. He leaned over and put his head in hands to prevent further loss of consciousness. After a moment or two his breathing began to even out and he could straighten. Much to his embarrassment, Robert was sitting at his side eyeing him anxiously.

"I must apologize, My Lord. I'm not sure what came over me. I didn't eat much at dinner." Well, that was a lie. He didn't even attempt to eat dinner.

"No apologies necessary," Robert declared clapping him on the back. "I dare say none of us had much of an appetite tonight."

As John got to feet, Robert continued, "Speaking of dinner, Sybil sang your praises tonight, Anna's too. She said you two were extremely helpful at the hospital."

Now with his feet steady, John just wanted to leave. "It was nothing. We just tried to help where needed."

"Come now, no false modesty . . . You're an asset wherever you work. In fact, I wish you still served at my side. It would make my work a little bit easier. Oh, they give me competent enough aides, but it's just not the same."

John knew that Robert was giving him a huge compliment and he did appreciate it, but even if he hadn't been dishonorable discharged, he wasn't sure he could ever don a uniform again.

"Well, thank you, sir," John replied not sure what else to say. He reached for his cane. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, no. Get some rest," Robert shooed him away with a hand. "I think we all need a good night's sleep . . . Good night, Bates."

"Good night, My Lord," he replied closing the Earl's door.

He took only two steps before stopping. Leaning back against the wall of the empty hallway, John closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. How did dressing one man for bed turn into such a bloody nightmare? He wanted to put it all back, the names, the faces, the carnage, but like Pandora's box once opened there was no reigning it in.

But he could dull the pain. The pack of fags still rested in his pocket . . . No, that wouldn't do. He needed to do more than dull the pain; he needed to make it disappear all together. Robert was wrong. A good night's sleep wouldn't do him any good.

No, what he needed was a drink.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter: John, Anna and a pub. . .**


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Meant to have this posted earlier, but the summer has been busier than normal. Plus I keep getting sucked into watching weird Olympic sports (trampoline gymnastics, anyone?) that you only see every four year when I could be writing. **_

_**But here you have it. . . John once again finds himself in a pub. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy this latest installment.**_

* * *

**Chapter 5: **

"Another. . ." John rasped at the barkeep.

"You sure, mate? You're askin' for trouble the way you're throwin' 'em back."

He raised his bowed head, several locks of hair falling over his forehead, and glared. "I'm sure . . . another." As an afterthought or perhaps from an abiding courtesy despite his drunken haze, John added wearily, "Please."

Without another word, the barkeep poured out a dram of whiskey.

"Make it double."

With a shake of the head, the barkeep kept pouring. "Your head's gonna be a poundin' tomorrow."

"Probably so." But the pounding was worth not remembering. And he was close. It was all beginning to blur. Become fuzzy. Africa. William. The gunfire. Seamus. It was all floating to the edges of his consciousness. A few more drinks and it would all be gone.

He picked up the glass slowly, but with a steady hand. He had always been a controlled drinker, never sloppy or slap happy. It was something he was bloody good at. He could out drink any man there if he wanted to, a skill he mastered long ago in what seemed another life. Proving such talent, he downed the whiskey in one sure swallow. John closed his eyes and breathed deeply as the liquor burned a familiar path down his throat. He was getting there. It was disappearing. All of it. Everyone and everything was ceasing to exist . . . except her.

Even now, she hovered in the back of his mind. He could see face, hear her voice. A wave of shame shuttered through his body. What would she think if she saw him now . . . drunk and disheveled? Well, she would finally understand the man that he was. No. . .the man that he is.

With his eyes still closed and the whiskey continuing its downward trek, his ears pricked at the sound of clacks upon the pub's wooden floor. He knew those clacks; had heard them before. But it wasn't possible. She couldn't be here. More precisely, he didn't want her here. Yet the clacks ended right beside his barstool. Despite his stupor, John's sixth sense told him that indeed Anna stood beside him. She had come searching for him.

"Mr. Bates, I think it's best you come with me."

John couldn't look up. It was just too damn much to face her, to see disappointment in her eyes.

"Go away, Anna,"

"Not without you." The stubborn tone of her voice indicated she had no plans of leaving without a fight. He almost smiled at the thought of her readying for battle. Almost. But there was nothing funny about such a remarkable women fighting for such a worthless excuse of a man.

"Go home," he entreated with his head still lowered. "Leave before someone notices you're gone."

"Mrs. Hughes knows where I am,"

His humiliation was growing by the minute.

"Well, she knows I am looking for you," she amended. "She doesn't know I am here specifically, but she gave me the keys and entrusted me to find you.

"Well, you did. Now go," John ordered more sternly this time in a voice barely above a whisper. His patience was waning. She needed to leave.

"Look at me," Anna demanded as she laid a hand upon his forearm.

He flinched at her touch and couldn't hold back from raising his eyes. She was gleaming bright. Though she still had on her black maids dress underneath, she once again wore her cream dress coat. Maybe it was his muddled head, but Anna shimmered in contrast to the dim surroundings of the pub. She was an angel, though the determined set of her shoulders made her resemble an avenging one.

Her eyes were a mixed bag: compassion, frustration, worry. Yet love beat back all the other emotions. Her eyes were also suspiciously wet. There was no doubt about it, she cared. She loved him.

For a split second, his heart beat with the elation that comes from simply being loved. But it wasn't right and he knew it. She belonged with a man who wasn't such a mess, who didn't have his history. A man she wouldn't have to track down at the pub. A man who wasn't him.

But to disentangle from her love, he would have to hurt her . . . punish her . . . for daring to have such a faith in him. His head throbbed. He would show her the John Bates she had never known.

Not deviating from those blue eyes, John brought his glass down hard enough upon the bar to get the barkeep's attention.

"Another."

The middle aged man behind the counter looked from John to Anna and back searching for confirmation before pouring. With their eyes locked, neither turned to provide him with such permission.

Finally after several long seconds, John broke the silence, "Another, man. I asked for another."

This time the barkeep capitulated after giving Anna a final glance. John slowly picked up the whiskey. With his eyes still on her, knowing he was breaking her heart, he swallowed the glass's contents.

Never before had liquor tasted as foul. Still it had to be done. She had to be warned away.

But . . . she wasn't making for the door. In fact, she did nothing except slightly narrow her eyes.

"Mr. Bates," she spoke sharply and clearly. "It's going to take a lot more than that to scare me away."

What a fool he was! A shock of epiphany coursed through his body with her declaration. He should have known that Anna wouldn't be baited and run away. She had been up front with her intentions time and again. She loved him . . . no matter his past, no matter his marital status, no matter his physical abilities, no matter his unwillingness to express his emotions . . . no matter anything.

He glanced down at her hand still resting upon his arm. She gave him one sure and steady squeeze that spoke volumes. She would not abandon him. She was here now. She would be there in the future too. John had never felt so loved in all his life. Sure, his mother loved him, but that was a mother's love for her son, a very different kind of love. He had thought it was love between him and Vera, but now he understood it to be youthful infatuation driven by base needs. But with Anna, it was so much more. It made him risk thinking of a possible future with her. He had thought of such a life before in passing glimpses, but had been always able to push it aside. But how he wanted it . . . maybe, just maybe it could be possible. She would be there for him and he would try his damnedest to always be there for her. Maybe it was possible. . .

Damn, his head hurt. Too much thinking . . . too much whiskey. John brought his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. He needed to see her clearly, not through an intoxicated fog.

"Anna," he began in a quiet, shallow voice locking eyes with her. "I don't where to begin . . ."

At that moment, a young man staggered over to the bar behind where Anna stood.

"Ay-up, Pauly!" The man hollered at the barkeep who was drying glasses at the other end of the bar.  
"Another pint if you please."

Oblivious to John and Anna's conversation, he leaned in close to Anna. "Don't believin' I've ever seen you in here before."

John could smell his breath from where he sat. He didn't like the man standing so close to Anna. Not one bit. A new rush, fueled by anger, surged through him.

Without waiting for a response from her, the bloke continued his push. "No drink, love? I can fix that . . .Yo, Pauly, a pint for the pretty lass here too."

"No, that's necessary. I'm not. . ." Anna began to protest.

"My pleasure," he slurred as he draped an arm around her shoulders. "Now where you been hidin' all this time?"

Anna rolled her eyes at the lad's ridiculous attempt and merely tried to slip out of his embrace.

But John wasn't so calm. He could barely see. His blood went straight past boiling to fire. He was on fire. Nobody touched Anna.

"Take your hands off the lady," he hissed.

Surprised, the younger man acknowledged his presence for the first time by meeting his glare.

"And who are you?. . .Her father?"

"I said take your hands off the lady," John repeated in a deadly calm voice.

Now Anna's face began to show signs of anxiety. She knew where this was headed and wished to avert it at all cost.

"Mr. Bates, don't. He's not worth it," she pleaded.

Now the man's attention turned back to Anna, "Not worth it? Let me show you what you be missin'." With that he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and brought his lips sloppily down upon her neck.

John snapped.

With a finesse that belayed his inebriated state, he grabbed the young lothario by the collar and threw him off of Anna. Surprised by the attack, he stumbled against a nearby table and chairs.

"You wanna go at it, old man? Do you, now?" he challenged rising to his feet.

But John was more than ready. The pub hummed with the energy only a brawl could bring about. Shouts of support rang out for his opponent, but he was deaf to everything but his fury. He had a task to accomplish: fell the man who dared to touch Anna. He wasn't going to fail.

As he limped towards him, the young man taunted John, stretching open his arms. "Go ahead, take your best shot."

That's all it took. In the blink of an eye, his fist connected with the man's temple and down he went. The pub went crazy. A female scream came from behind him. Despite his knee aching from all the sudden movement, John bent down and dragged the man to a nearby table where he continued to lay punch after punch. At first, the younger man attempted to fight back landing a solid hit to John's nose spurting blood down his face. He also received a sharp kick to his bad leg. But John was in a zone, ignorant to the pain of his body. This man had to be dealt with.

Eventually, it became apparent that John was the victor, but he wasn't done yet. After bringing the full weight of his body down upon the man on the table, John pushed his forearm against his windpipe.

"Never lay your hands on her again," he warned increasing his pressure. "Do you understand?"

He continued to push his forearm down. The man began to choke and sputter.

"Do you understand?" he tried again. Cries to let the man go echoed through the bar. He had clearly won.

Then he heard her. Among the din of the pub he heard her.

"Leave him be. Let's go home, John."

Hearing her speak his Christian name spoken for the first time, willing him to come home with her, shattered his rage. His hands dropped to his side. The young man gasped for air. His mates rushed to his assistance, dragging him to a nearby chair where he could recover. All around the pub, folks stared at John with a mix of animosity, admiration and even fear. But nobody would dare touch his woman again.

John closed his eyes as he took several heaving breaths. He was taxed. He was hurt. He was drunk. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and aimlessly wiped the blood from his face. Once again, a wave of humiliation coursed through him. God, how could he had sunken so low. In front of Anna, for God's sake. What she must think.

But before he could even face her, his stomach began to rumble its disagreement with his decision to brawl. The whiskey wasn't settling well on his empty stomach. He had to get out of there fast.

"Mr. Bates, are you all right?"

He barely mustered, "I'm going to be sick," before rushing past Anna towards the door.

As he exited, he was met with a blast of cool night air. His stomach gurgled even more as he spied a rubbish barrel just around the side of the pub. John hobbled over as fast as could without the aid of his cane. Without any hesitation, he braced his arms on the barrel and proceeded to vomit. It had been years since he had drank that much, years since he had been in a fight. His body told him he was too old for such behavior. He wished his brain had been as wise.

John continued lay in a prone position over the barrel. He couldn't move, sheer exhaustion taking over.

And that's how Anna found him.

"Here, take a drink," she offered holding out a tin cup of water. "Always seemed to help my father."

As John took the cup and gave her a curious look, Anna continued, "He was quite adept at getting soused. Growing up, Mum and I had to drag him home from the pub several times a month."

Interesting. Maybe tonight wasn't as shocking for her as John might have thought. Yet just because she wasn't innocent, didn't mean it was alright that it occurred.

After taking a long swallow, John began, "Anna, I'm so sorry. . ."

"Please don't apologize. I know there is more to everything. Let's just get away from here."

Probably for the best. All they needed was the man he pummeled or one of his friends to follow them. It was also quite late and his head was still swirling. And regardless of tonight's events, they both had to work tomorrow bright and early.

"Right. We should get back to Downton."

"Actually, I was thinking perhaps we could stay out a bit. Fresh air would do a world of good."

"Mrs. Hughes, wouldn't mind?" John asked dubiously.

"She trusts us implicitly. . .Come on, I know a place we can rest that's on the way back."

She held out his cane that she had retrieved from inside. John set down the cup upon a fence post. He probably should take it inside, but that might lead to more trouble. After handing him the cane, she kept her hand out indicating he should take it.

"Follow me, Mr. Bates," she coaxed softly.

And like a moth drawn to a flame, John placed his hand in hers without a second thought and let her lead him down an unknown path.

* * *

_**A/N: Stick with me! Only one chapter to go. After beating up and breaking down John through most of this story, now it's time to begin the rebuilding process that will lead to a stronger self and relationship with Anna. **_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: So. . . I meant for this to be the final chapter, but it ended up being incredibly long-How does that always happen? The good news is I only need to tweak the second half and plan to have it posted very soon—my goal is have this story completed before series 3 begins! **_

_**Thanks everyone for being patient readers and enduring John's agonizing day. . .it's going to begin to look up now that Anna's at his side. As always, I appreciate everyone's kind words and suggestions. They simply make me smile.**_

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

"Watch your step. The path is a bit uneven."

It was the first either of them had spoken since leaving the pub. Heeding Anna's warning, John focused putting one foot in front of the next. The path, if you could call it that, was barely recognizable in the lush woods that bordered Downton. About ten minutes ago, Anna had veered off the main road onto the secondary path that dwindled the further they ventured into the trees.

Not that he didn't trust Anna, but John was beginning to get concerned they might be lost. And that was the last thing they needed. With the way his head was still throbbing, he wasn't sure he'd be able to navigate their way back to Downton. God, he needed to stop and rest. His knee, his head, his body. . .it all hurt.

"Anna, I don't mean to. . .ah. . .but do you know where. . ."

"Worried I've got us lost, eh?" Even though he couldn't see her face and could only dimly make out her silhouette, he knew she was smiling. "Don't fret. We're almost there."

Thankfully the moon was close to full allowing light to filter down through the branches to guide their way, but it was still quite dark. So much was John concentrating upon his steps that he failed to realize Anna had stopped and bumped right into her backside.

"Oh, sorry. . ."

"That's all right," Anna waved off before announcing with anticipation. "We're here."

Resting one hand upon her shoulder and one upon his cane, John balanced himself as he raised his head up.

"Oh, Anna. . ."

He was at a loss for words.

The woods opened up to reveal a waterfall emptying into a swift moving brook. The waterfall was small, no more than waist high, but a waterfall none the less. A large, grassy bank receded from the brook to the forest edge where they stood.

The setting reminded John of the Irish folktales he heard at his mother's knee. A mystical otherworld inhabited by fairies and nymphs hidden from the eyes of mankind.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

"Enchanting," John grinned down at her. With loose strands of hair blowing against her face and her eyes alive, Anna could very well be his own woodland nymph.

"Come on, follow me," she beckoned.

All of the turmoil of the day slipped away as John emerged from the trees. He breathed in the clean night air. His head began to clear. The site before him was absolutely stunning.

"I discovered this place years ago. My first half day off to be exact. I had been so lonely. . .lost really. . . when I first came to Downton. I didn't know anyone and wasn't sure I wanted to. So the first chance I had, I escaped. I'm not sure exactly how I made my way here. It was almost as if I was drawn here not of my own making."

John couldn't help but wonder if the surroundings were indeed magical. For her. . .For him. . .For them.

"Oh, I guess that sounds silly," Anna laughed before continuing. "But I do think of it as my place. I'm not even sure anyone else at Downton knows it exists. At least I've never heard anyone speak of it. And I've never mentioned it or brought anyone here. . ."

_Until now_. A warmth spread through his body. She was willing to share her special place, somewhere she had kept to herself for over a decade, with him. He had never felt so privileged in all his life.

"Shall we sit?"

Anna began to bend down upon the dewy bank.

"Wait!" Wanting to protect her pristine white coat, John shrugged out of his suit jacket and laid it on the ground before she sat.

"Thank you, Mr. Bates," Anna acknowledged before plopping down on only half of the jacket. She patted empty half beside her. "Join me, won't you?"

He hadn't meant for her to share the jacket, but he couldn't resist her offer. It was too inviting to sit inches apart from the woman he loved under a full moon with waterfall streaming down. Surreal.

As he sat, Anna reclined flat on her back and gazed up at the stars. Her unbuttoned jacket opened up to reveal her uniform clad chest. Her small breasts rose and fell slightly with each breath she took. Even though John was still recovering from his stupor, the site was intoxicating.

"The sky is so bright tonight. I don't know if I've ever seen so many stars."

John crooked his head up toward the heavens.

"You can see everything much better if you lay back," Anna encouraged. Taking her advice, John leaned back upon his jacket. His arm brushed against hers. His head and legs stretched onto the wet grass. It felt refreshing, cleansing. Above him points of light dotted the darkness. It was staggering in its beauty. She grasped his hand. John turned his head. But she was even more beautiful.

"Now doesn't that feel better? Your leg has to be hurting. That was quite a mule kick you received."

John closed his eyes. That was it. His reverie shattered. His earlier actions roared back to life. Had he really gotten that pissed in the pub and instigated a brawl? All in front of Anna? Christ, how could she even stand to be around him, much less lay next to him holding his hand?

"Anna, I'm so sorry. . ."

Anna turned on her side to face him. She propped herself up on one elbow. "I already told you I don't want your apologies. I know there is much more to what happened today. I know that it was difficult for you to visit to the hospital. I know losing William hit you harder than most. I know the man in the pub is not the man that I've known for the last three years."

He shook his head, eyes still closed. "Oh, but Anna, that's who I am . . .drunk . . . crude . . . belligerent. A pathetic man. Why can't you see that?"

"Mr. Bates, it may have been who you were, but that's not who you are now."

John turned his head and opened his eyes to meet hers, willing her to understand. "That's where you're wrong. They're one in the same."

"Your past will always be a part of you. You can't alter it, pretend it didn't happen, but that doesn't mean you have to keep living it. And you haven't been."

Anna brought her free hand up to caress his cheek. His eyes drifted shut at her deft touch. "Tell me what haunts you. It's the war, isn't it?" She paused. "You don't have to, but what's the old adage. . . 'a burden shared is a burden halved' . . . Let me shoulder some of your pain."

He wanted to tell her. He needed to tell her. Her hand brushed away locks of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Fourteen years was a long time to keep it all in and fester. Only with Anna could he do this. John took a deep breath and opened his eyes. She had scooted closer, now a mere foot or so away. Her eyes pleaded with him.

"I was a different man before the war. Well, maybe not so different, but younger, green to the world. I craved adventure back then." John ruefully shook his head and shifted so he also laid on his side facing her. "I don't know, maybe I had read too many tales of King Arthur." Her lips cracked in a smile.

"The army seemed like the perfect opportunity for a young man of modest means to experience the world. And for while it was. I traveled all about Britain on maneuvers and even got to spend a year in India," John's voice warmed at the memory. "Oh, Anna, India was exhilarating. The sights and smells were so exotic, so foreign. I'd love to go back." With her this time. How much fun it would be explore the crowded streets and taste the spicy food together.

"You never mentioned you were abroad except for. . ." Her voice petered out. She didn't need to finish.

Anna ran her hand down the side of his arm encouraging him to continue. "Around this time I met Vera. Looking back I'm not sure how much we actually had in common. But she was a pretty lass from the old country and that was comforting I suppose."

John ran a hand over his face in self deprecation. "Not much of a basis for a substantial relationship, but at the time it was enough. I turned a blind eye to her rather ruthless ambition and callous nature." Anna's hand once more sought his as he continued.

"And for the first few years things weren't so bad. Too be honest, we didn't see that much of each other. I was steadily moving up the ranks. Vera made friends with other soldiers' wives. She can be quite charming when she wants to be. Then I was chosen as batman for Lord Grantham. This changed everything for us. It was a huge promotion that elevated both our stations. Vera was thrilled. She was finally reaching a position she felt she deserved. Then our regiment was sent to Africa."

John swallowed hard. Funny, it wasn't as hard as he thought to talk about Vera. But Africa was different. Even after so years, it still burned raw. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. A panic started to set in. John sat up breathing hard. He needed to escape; find the path back to Downton. Now.

"Mr. Bates, please don't leave," implored Anna. Her hands found their way to his shoulders. She began to rub them. "Relax. Lay back here and tell me about Africa."

She was pulling him back. Even though part of him still wanted to bolt, her hands were stronger. It was so hard to resist her. He leaned back to find himself lying so his head was cradled in her lap.

"Whenever you're ready, I'm here." She looked down at him and caressed his forehead, combing his hair back, running her fingers through his scalp. She did it over and over. His eyes closed and breathing returned to normal. So soothing . . . his anxiety began to subside.

"The fact of the matter is I was an excellent soldier," John began softly.

Anna smiled down at him. "That doesn't surprise me in the least. You're an excellent valet. You have no problems following orders; you're competent, loyal, smart," she ticked off attributes.

"I suppose, but as a valet I don't have to shoot anyone. As a soldier, I excelled at shooting . . . and killing."

He felt it. It was small, but there was a tiny shiver that went through Anna's body, a slight pause in her stroking. She hadn't expected to hear such a bold confession. He hated to tell her, to burden her, but he had to lay it all out if he was to continue.

Her fingers began to caress again, over and over. "Go on, Mr. Bates."

"I was in Africa for roughly eighteen months. Part of His Majesty's own 5th Rifle Brigade. We were sharpshooters. Did his Lordship ever mention that?

"I've never heard him speak of Africa except in passing and usually in conjunction with you. I had just been hired on when he returned home, but everyone said her Ladyship did not want to hear about Africa or his service."

That didn't surprise John. Most people in general didn't want to hear about it, even those closest to you. Cora wasn't any different from Vera . . . but somehow Anna was. She didn't balk or run, she was willing to sit and listen. John knew he was incredibly lucky to have her in his corner.

He took a deep breath as her fingers never ceased. "Our job, you see, was to pick off targets from a distance from the back of our line. Sometimes it was officers, sometimes artillery units so they couldn't fire their cannon. Unlike the battles today, ours involved relatively small numbers, perhaps a few hundred on each side. The removal of only a few officers could create enough chaos for our side to be victorious."

Her other hand found his, interlacing their fingers. "And we were good at it, so bloody good at it. You wouldn't believe the accolades our regiment received and how we were treated . . . like heroes . . . liquor, women were never in short supply. And why? All because we had good aim . . . all because we could kill so brilliantly."

"But you were just following orders."

"Maybe so, but does that make it right?" John closed his eyes once again and struggled to connect his thoughts coherently in his still whiskey-laden head. "A part of me . . . that part of me that each night read and reread the small book of Emerson I brought with me knew it was wrong."

He licked his dry lips. "A part of me recognized their men were not dissimilar that from ours. They were also husbands, sons, and fathers. That part of me knew it was wrong."

John opened his eyes, bright and wet, and sought hers. "Damn it Anna, I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop. I don't think I wanted to stop. It was so exhilarating the praise we received. When you're told you're the best, you bask in it even if what you're doing is reprehensible."

John could tell Anna wanted to argue with him, defend his actions, but he wouldn't allow her the chance. He needed to tell her it all.

"There's more to the story, isn't there?

John simply nodded. She could read him so well. She knew when he was holding back, hiding. He had done it enough times since they had met.

"A new commander, Farnsworth, took over the troops in our area. He was pure infantry. He believed in men on the line advancing on the enemy and held the sharpshooters with disdain. We were nothing special, in fact he believed we were coddled and weak because we never were in the thick of battle, always fighting from a distance."

"He sounds rather foolish."

"That he was, but he was our commanding officer." John grinned sardonically and shook his head. "Then one day, he decided to send our regiment out to round up some rogue Boer soldiers that had been wreaking havoc along our line. You see, at this point we had secured most of the main towns, so the Boers had resorted to mainly guerilla tactics. We had no experience in this. We had never been trained on tracking down and capturing soldiers. The infantry units usually handled that. Farnsworth just wanted to send us to make the point we weren't anything exceptional. As his batman and aide of sorts, I was with his Lordship when he got the orders. He knew, just as I did, that we weren't equipped for such a mission, but what could he do. . ."

"I don't know . . . object. . .make his position known," Anna suggested in a feisty voice.

John just shook his head. "It's not that easy. When you're given an order you have to follow . . . and we did."

Softly Anna asked, "What happened next?"

"We were on the Boers' trail for a little over an hour on foot. I was at the front of the line next to Robert. We were starting up a slight hill when all Hell broke loose. A shell exploded right in front of us knocking both of us and many of our men down. I wasn't hurt, but Robert was thrown quite a distance upon where he hit his head on a rock. I couldn't tell how hurt he was, but he looked to be unconscious."

Her thumb rubbed over his fingers as her hand gave his another squeeze of encouragement. "Then the shooting started. They were everywhere. We were completely surrounded. Our men were dropping in droves before we even had a chance to fire back. We had walked into an ambush."

John's voice was getting scratchy. His throat was incredibly sore. He coughed twice which only made his throat hurt more. But he couldn't stop now, he had to continue.

"Somewhere in my head, I knew I needed to protect Robert. He was unconscious, maybe dead, but completely unprotected. When I started for him, I was hit." A slight whimper sounded above him. His pain was hers.

"The funny thing was I didn't realize I was shot until I was a few feet from Robert and my leg simply gave out and I stumbled to the ground. You've got to realize, there's so much adrenaline pumping, you're not fully cognizant of your own body."

The more he shared, the more it was rising in his consciousness. He could smell the gunpowder, the blood. He could feel the shells landing and hear the constant ringing of rifle fire. "It was so loud, so bloody loud. No response could be coordinated. We were being slaughtered." John was barely aware of his voice breaking.

"I crawled over to Robert and collapsed on top of him to shield him, but it wasn't long before the firing stopped altogether. I turned my head and I couldn't believe the sight in front of me. Not a single one of our men stood."

Anna shifted his body and wrapped her arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. His head and upper torso now pillowed by her soft body.

"We still wore red uniforms back then. Anna, do you know why we wore red?"

She just shook her head and raised her palm to John's cheek.

"So the blood wouldn't show when someone was wounded and the men around him wouldn't panic and keep fighting. But God Anna," His voiced cracked again as he failed to stop the first tears from falling. "I saw the blood. There was so much blood it was turning the dirt brick red."

Her thumb brushed the tears away but new ones immediately took their place.

John swallowed hard. The need to hyperventilate was strong, but he had to finish. "Then the Boers came to inspect their damage. They weren't content to just let our men die in peace. No, they wanted to make sure we were dead. So they started to. . ." He sniffed as his nose began to run. The tears continued to fall, now mixing with ones coming down from above, but he had to finish.

"So they . . . took their bayonets and gutted our men . . . each and every one . . . in the chest, in the head, anywhere, to make sure they were dead."

His tears were now sobs. Sobs that had been waiting to come out for over a dozen years. Anna brought his head to bosom and held him tight.

"It's all right," Anna whispered into his hair as she rocked him. "I'm here."

"I saw it all," John stuttered out. "I saw them all die. I saw my best friend die. And . . . . I-I-I . . . did-did nothing."

"Shh. . .No more, my love. Just let me hold you."

He was exhausted and did as he was told. Even as the sobs began to recede, her gentle rocking continued. No one in his adult life had ever taken such care or shown so much concern. Yet with the memories of Africa so fresh in his mind, old doubts began to surface.

The tears no longer fell, but his breathing was still ragged and uneven. John pulled out of Anna's hold and sat up. He didn't deserve her care. . .her sympathy.

"I'm ever so sorry you had to live through such horror," came her voice from behind him.

Without turning his back, he asked, "But why did I live? The others didn't. By some miracle, a Boar messenger arrived with orders for their men to return to camp. A battle was brewing up the road. They left everyone dead except for me and Robert."

She reached up and touched his shoulder. "I don't have an answer for you. Maybe it was just providence."

"Providence?" Contempt filled his voice. "They were good men. Better men than me. If anyone deserved to die, it was me. I don't deserve to have a future when they didn't."

"Look at me, John Bates." When he was reluctant to turn his head, Anna scooted around on her knees to face him. "You are a good man. A very good man that I just happen to love who I'd like to have a future with. You can't beat yourself up over matters of chance."

"But will I ever be able to fully live knowing they died?"

When Anna didn't answer, John continued, "When I returned back to England everyone thought I became a drunk because of my injury, but all I wanted to do was block out what I had seen. Hell, I took being a cripple as my punishment for surviving. The others hadn't. . .but at least I would remember what happened every time I took a step."

John just looked down at his hands. He couldn't face her. "Anna, why do I deserve a second chance when so many never even go to live their first chance? What did I do to warrant it?

Anna lifted his chin with her small fingers to force eye contact.

"Mr. Bates, let me tell you a story about second chances. . ."

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_**A/N: Okay, one more chapter…and I mean it this time. **_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: So here you have it. . .the last chapter! I'm not sure I'm happy with all of it. I hope John doesn't seem to OOC towards the end, but I think we all need some fluff to make up for the inordinate amount of prison scenes (poor John with his gray gulag flannel get up and jerk cellmate) we will be faced with in Series 3. **_

_**Thanks for everyone who stuck with this story. I know this wasn't the cheeriest story around, but I hope it served its purpose of confronting John's past and filling in gaps left by Series 2. I appreciate all the reviews, suggestions and kind words. They are a joy to read!**_

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**Chapter 7: **

"What have I told you of my family?"

The question threw John a bit. The last thing he expected was a discussion of Anna's family.

"Well . . . your father died when you were young. That's why you hired on at Downton, to help support your family."

"Yes, that's right," Anna confirmed. "Anything else?"

John racked his brain. The high volume of whiskey he had consumed didn't help his recall. _Come on, man. Think._ He really should know more about the woman he loves, shouldn't he? What a selfish bastard. She knows all about his past and he's having trouble just remembering her family.

"You're the oldest and have a couple of younger brothers, right?" She nodded. Now he was starting to pull the pieces together, snippets of conversation springing back to mind. "Oh yes, and your mother recently remarried and had twins . . . girls, I believe."

Anna smiled affirmatively. "Poppy and Lily, my little flowers. They're three years old." John's heart flip-flopped thinking of her with little girls who assuredly adored her.

"Anything else?" At John's shake of the head, Anna continued. "You see, there's much that I left out. We all have a past, Mr. Bates."

Anna adjusted her skirts and settled into place in front of him. "My mother was only fourteen when she married my father. He wasn't much old, only eighteen, but should have known better."

"Known better?"

"Known that it only takes one time to get a girl in trouble."

"Oh. . ." Realization dawned. Her parents _had_ to get married. And Anna was the oldest. They had to get married because of her.

"It wasn't the life that either of them had imagined. Their families weren't wealthy, but they weren't destitute either. Mother's family ran the village bakery and my father's family owned a sizable farm. Mum had been quite fortunate in her schooling. In fact, she was all set to attend a dame school where she could be certified to become a teacher herself."

Anna sighed. "Then there was my father. He wanted desperately to be anywhere but Yorkshire." She looked up at John with a half smile. "Maybe he too had read too many King Arthur stories."

"Neither of them had planned to marry at such an early age. I wonder at times if they ever truly loved each other. Would they have lived different, happier lives if I had not come along?" Another sigh. "But ultimately they did what they thought was right all for me."

"Oh Anna. . ." He couldn't help but hear hurt in her voice. He reached over and took her hands within his larger ones. Their roles reversed. He was now her confessor.

"It's all right. We all have to live with the consequences of our actions. My parents were no different, but their lives most certainly veered off course."

"How did they end up supporting themselves?"

"Well, they moved in with my father's family and helped him run the farm. When I was around four, my grandfather had a heart attack while harvesting. My father being his only son inherited the farm. At the time, I had two younger brothers, Billy and James, and Thomas was on the way."

"My . . . that's a lot of children in a short amount of time."

"You're telling me. I'm the elder sister to five younger brothers."

"I'm not sure how you survived," John couldn't help but grin at the imagine of little Anna corralling five bratty brothers.

"Sometimes I wonder," she laughed back. "Anyway, at first it seemed like my parents were in good shape inheriting the farm, but they soon found out the farm was deep in debt and if they didn't increase their crop yields they would most likely lose it to the bank."

Anna paused, collecting herself. John brushed his thumbs over her the back of her hands in an even rhythm. "This is when the trouble truly began. They fought constantly over anything and everything. They could never see eye to eye even on the simplest things. It became unbearable, even ridiculous. If Mum said the sky was blue, my father would disagree."

"I'm sorry you had to grow up in such an environment." John would never have guessed that Anna had been raised in a home that was anything but happy given her loving and genuine nature.

"It wasn't all bad. I do believe my parents did love us. It's just that they didn't necessary love each other." Anna raised her head and met his gaze. "Not everyone is as lucky as . . ."

_Us. _ She didn't have to finish. He knew she was right.

"Now that I'm older I can recognize the staggering pressure they were under to save the farm, to provide for our family. For Heaven's sake, my mother wasn't even twenty yet and had four children and my father who had never really had any responsibility in life now had to run a farm with no assistance. But at the time, I just thought that they hated each other . . . and maybe us children too. "

How could she even think her parents hated her? How could anyone hate her? Twin threads of anger and sadness weaved through his body for a young Anna who deserved more.

"Every year the farm teetered on bankruptcy. After the birth of Nathaniel, my youngest brother, my mother stopped sharing a bed with my father. She took to sleeping on a daybed in the parlor. It was around this time he started heavily drinking and not always coming home at night. I'm sure he kept the company of other women. I know it must have hurt my mother, but I think she was so busy looking after six small children that she didn't have time to care much. It wasn't uncommon for me and her to drag Father home from the pub once a week. It was just the way things were."

He kept his thumbs moving over and over in even strokes. As much as John believed he knew Anna, her heart, her soul, it was rather surprising to learn all that she had been exposed to as a child. She was right . . . no one was without a past.

"Then when I was fourteen, everything changed." Anna stopped, took a deep breath and composed herself. This wasn't easy for her. John wondered if she had ever shared her story. Anna was friendly with everyone at Downton, even those she despised, but friendly was not the same as actually being friends. No, it wasn't likely she confided in anyone there. She was telling only him. She trusted him implicitly and his heart quivered at such trust.

"It was planting season. Father was late getting the crops in the ground, so Mum was giving him a hard time. He had got up late after coming home in the middle of the night. They got in a terrible row, one of the worst I had ever seen, right in front of all of us. I swear he was going to hit her." Her voice trembled a bit. John gripped her hands solidly to assure her of his presence.

"I just remember her saying, 'You're a waste of a good man, Peter. You've ruined both our lives, don't ruin our children's.' Father didn't say anything in his defense, just left the house slamming the door behind him. Then he headed out to do the ploughing. Then. . ." Anna drifted off. Her voice barely a whisper.

John brought a hand up to her cheek. God, how soft it was. A single tear ran over his hand. "Go ahead, Anna . . . tell me what happened?" His own voice soft, barely heard over the brook's moving water.

"He died. Simple as that. Somehow the plough fell on top of him and crushed him. By the time my brothers made it over to him, he was already gone."

"Oh Anna, I am so sorry." The words felt so small and useless. His fingers were now damp from tears. Damn, it cut him to see her cry. John brushed them back with his thumb while he brought her other hand he still held up to his mouth. He kissed the back her of knuckles. "So sorry you had to experience that."

Anna pulled her hand gently from his and rubbed her eyes, composing herself. Fixing herself. Funny, John always thought that he was the one that erected facades when he didn't want sympathy or pity. She was now constructing a similar veneer.

"Sorry. I don't know why it still affects me. It _w_as so long ago."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Hadn't Anna said those same words to him earlier today?

"Anyway . . . needless to say my mother blamed herself. She thought their last fight and more specifically her final words to him were somehow responsible for his death. And if not her words then her lack of faith in him . . . or worse, her lack of love for him."

"But it wasn't her fault," John objected. Anna raised an eyebrow. _And neither was it your fault_, her eyes implored him to see the irony of his statement.

"No, but that didn't stop the guilt. I'm not sure she would have made it without us children to take care of. It gave her purpose."

Maybe things would have been different for him if he had some purpose after Africa . . . if he had a family to take care . . . if Vera had been a different woman . . . if she had been . . ._ Anna_.

"Mum just put her head down and made certain the farm kept going and our family was taken care of. It was the least she could do for my father. . . Provide him with some sort of legacy."

Anna shook her head as she continued. "But it wasn't easy. I was lucky enough to be hired on at Downton which provided the family with enough funds to hire a part time farm hand during planting and harvesting. My brothers never saw the inside of the schoolhouse much after that. And I never did. I had wanted to study further. I had been a top student." Another long sigh. "But it just wasn't meant to be. Once again, my mother blamed herself for my schooling coming to an abrupt halt, much the same as hers had."

John knew what a quick mind Anna had. It was one of her attributes he was attracted to most. He didn't doubt she had been a brilliant student. His heart continued to crack for her life that never was.

Anna must have noticed his glum expression and smiled up at him. "Don't worry, Mr. Bates, this is where the story begins to look up."

He couldn't help but return her smile. It was infectious whenever she turned it on him. Anna's hands once again crept into his.

"So for the next almost decade, my mother's life was simply the farm and raising my brothers. Then about five years ago, she starts complaining continually about this new neighbor in all her letters. A retired sea captain had moved into the estate that bordered our farm. According to my mother, Captain Fuller was a nosy man who was always stopping by, asking about her farm, getting to know the boys, offering to help out. She absolutely hated him . . . or at least that's what she wrote me."

"But she didn't hate him?" John deduced. He had a feeling he knew where this story was headed.

"No, she didn't hate him, not in the least. It was all a front because she didn't believe she deserved such happiness ever."

"What happened?"

"Next thing I know, I come home to spend my annual five day holiday with her and the boys, and she introduces me to Captain Fuller . . . her fiancée. Let me tell you Mr. Bates, my jaw hit the floor," Anna laughed. A smile split John's face at the melodious sound.

"I was simply flabbergasted. After months of her complaining about this overbearing sailor or . . . ruffian, that was her favorite term of endearment," Anna giggled. "Here she was about to get hitched. And for the first time in my life, she appeared to be truly happy."

"The night before I headed back to Downton, we stayed up late talking. She finally asked me if I minded her marrying the Captain . . . whether I thought she was being disloyal to my father. I told her I was thrilled that she could find love again. That's when she broke down and said she had tried so hard to fight off her feelings for Captain because she believed she didn't merit a second chance."

"What made her change her mind?"

"She finally realized that her past would always be there. Whatever she did in the present or the future didn't change the fact that my father had died. That would never change. It had shaped who she was, but she finally came to see she was letting it control all that she would ever be. She was walking through life, not really living. Never allowing herself to feel anything; not friendship, not beauty, not hope and especially not love. Life was passing her by.

Hadn't John told Captain Hemming something very similar earlier in the day?

"She finally decided she wanted to be happy, that it was all right to be happy . . . that my father would want her to be happy. It was time for her to let go of the past." Anna squeezed John's hands again and looked him straight in the eye. "Mr. Bates, I think it's time for you to let go too. If we are to have any kind of future together, you have to let go."

John leaned forward to press his forehead against hers and closed his eyes as he whispered, "I know . . . it's time." And it was. It was time to put the guilt, the sorrow, all the ugliness he had witnessed behind him. Like Anna had said, it would always be there whether or not he moved on. And by God, he wanted to move on. He wanted to a future with the remarkable woman in front of him.

Anna pulled away a bit breaking contact. "I want you to know that I will be with you every step of the way. I will always be there for you because. . .I love you, simple as that."

His lips itched to return the sentiment. Besides to his mother, he hadn't said the words in years. Had he ever said them to Vera?

As he opened his mouth, Anna brought soft finger tips to his lips. "You don't have to say it until you're ready. There's no rush. I'm not going anywhere."

Flustered by her touch as much as her words, John's brain froze and stray thoughts bubbled to the surface. "I saw a solicitor this afternoon."

"What?" Anna questioned clearly perplexed.

"I saw a solicitor," he repeated. "In the village. I went to see him about beginning the process of divorcing Vera."

"Divorcing Vera?" She whispered.

"If we're to have a future, the past can't come between us. Now I make no promises about how long it will take, or even whether she can be found at all. It also might be quite costly. . ."

"I completely understand," Anna confirmed nodding her head. Tears once again gathered as a large smile broke across her face. This time they were tears nothing but joy.

"But I want you to know . . . that I want you by my side. . ." John struggled to maintain a composure that was rapidly slipping away. "Because . . . because . . . I love you."

With those words, words that he had longed to say and she to hear, Anna scrambled up onto her knees, wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her mouth down on his. Taken by surprise, John leaned one hand back on the ground for support and wrapped the other securely around her waist before settling into a kiss that had been three years in the making.

Never had lips tasted so lush. Never had a body fit so perfect with his. This was right. They were right. Anna broke away practically panting, her face lit with glee.

"That was lovely, Mr. Bates."

John had to laugh at her use of formalities. God, it felt good to laugh. "That it was, Miss Smith. That it was. Now I think we best get back to Downton before it becomes too difficult to leave." She understood his meaning, already her eyes began to show signs of a desire that would not easily be extinguished.

Anna helped him up. Normally he would have tried to avoid any assistance, but he knew she lent a hand not out of pity, but of affection. And in return, he loved her to the ends of the earth and back. As they walked back to the trail, Anna tucked at his side, utter contentment radiated through John.

Anna looked up shyly, "Talking of my family tonight made me realize how much I want you to meet them. You and the Captain would get along famously and Mum would love another son."

John wasn't so sure her mother would readily accept a suitor who was a married man closer to her age than her daughter's, but now was not the time to argue such a point.

"Of course, if that did occur, you might have to give in and call me by another name."

"What do you mean?"

John paused along the trail. "Anna, since tonight's been all about honesty and coming clean, I have one more secret to share."

"All right. What is it?" Anna couldn't keep the curiosity from her voice.

"Back at the pub when I was . . . shall we say having that 'disagreement' with a certain young hooligan. . ."

"I would call it brawling, Mr. Bates."

"All right 'brawling' if you like," Anna grinned at his emphasis on the word. "Anyhow, when I had the unfortunate fellow pinned down, you pleaded for me to stop and when you did, you called me John. I was hoping that maybe when it's just you and me. . .or when I meet your family. . .you could maybe. . ."

"It would be my pleasure . . .John." Anna declared before snuggling deeper against his suit jacket as the continued walking. "And as long as we're being completely honest with each other. . ." Her voice suggested mischief.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Well, even though I abhor violence and I would never condone you fighting, I must admit it was rather thrilling seeing my honor defended like in some romantic novel."

John stopped in his tracks in eager wonder. "Really? You were impressed?"

As his male pride swelled, Anna rolled her eyes and kept walking, "I think you did read too many King Arthur stories as a boy."

He caught up with her in two strides. "Hey now, are you making fun of me?" he playfully demanded.

"Of course not, Sir Lancelot," she chuckled.

Silly banter with Anna. It made him feel like a man half his age.

"Hmm . . .it would seem that the lady does not even know my correct name. I'm afraid I'm going to have to tickle her until she can get it right."

Before Anna could scurry away, he grabbed her from behind and started to tickle her sides.

Anna squealed with laughter as his hands assaulted her body. "Stop it, Mr. Bates! Please!"

"Hmm. . .close, but not quite right." Anna's giggles increased as he found a particularly vulnerable spot under her arms.

"Mr. Ba. . .I mean John. . .stop!"

At the sound of his Christian name, his hands stopped tickling, but he couldn't help himself and began caressing the same territory.

"You are a wicked, wicked creature . . .and I love you." Anna leaned back and rested her head against his chest. His hands traced over a body he had only dreamed of touching. From her waist to the swell of his breasts his hands moved. As he gently cupped her breasts, a sigh escaped from Anna's lips.

He needed to stop. As amazing as this moment was, he knew where it could lead and neither of them were prepared for that right now. Ever so gently he turned her in his arms and placed a gentle kiss first upon her forehead then her lips.

"As much as I would like to continue, we should be getting back. I think even Mrs. Hughes might be worried by now."

"I know," Anna agreed and broke their embrace. Taking her hand in his, they began the trek home.

"I've been thinking," Anna began after they had been walking for a few minutes. "Now that you know my secret hiding place. . ." John grinned at her description. "maybe when we volunteer at the hospital, we could knock off a bit early and revisit it."

"That sounds divine. It can be _our_ secret hiding place." Suddenly, volunteering at the hospital didn't seem like such a bad idea.

As they made their way through the moonlight back to Downton, John shook his head in amazement. He never thought such a horrible day could end in such perfect fashion. While his future was still as uncertain as it was at the start of day, his past could finally be laid to rest.

He could finally let go. He looked down at their hands intertwined. He had something new to hold on to.

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_**A/N: I think I got one more Downton story left before the creativity well is dried up. Stay tuned. . .it will definitely be different. **_


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